“No, someone thought it’d be a great joke to re-route us out of the country.” Renn leveled a stare at Alixa. “Because he didn’t like her hair.”
“We weren’t looking to end up here,” Emmie said.
“Who does?” Alixa responded bitterly.
She looked them over, her wry smirk and incredulous gaze hard to read. Renn thought, though, maybe their plight had elicited some flimsy compassion or understanding or. . . at least maybe they’d moved a notch above abject derision.
“So, will you help us?” Emmie placed her hands on the table.
“You’ve told me nothing, little girl!” Alixa leaned back into the bench, the swaggering look never leaving her face. “But let’s get this clear. I am not taking you to the Vale. Never been to the wretched place, and never will. Nothing you could offer would change that.”
Alixa appeared to revel in their desperate exchange of glances.
“You’re poor farm kids from poor farm country. You got nothing. Nobody out here will help you out of the goodness of their heart.” She knocked back another drink then slammed her empty shot glass down. “Nobody.”
Emmie closed her eyes. This Alixa was right. They had nothing and they were desperate.
“Maybe you’d take us someplace up here?” Emmie asked. “I got a map. I’ll show you.”
She met Renn’s disapproving look with a kick from the sharp point of her boot. He snapped his mouth shut. Emmie watched a flicker—maybe—of what might pass for curiosity register in Alixa’s eyes before, hardly missing a beat, she rolled her eyes and laughed.
“What could possibly entice me to throw in with the two of you?”
Emmie’s shoulders slumped and she sighed. She had no tact in manipulation or market-slick sales pitches. The only approach that worked for her was simple, honest, and kind. Even if it was totally hopeless, that’s who she was.
“Alixa’s glass is empty.” Emmie had watched in amazement as she repeatedly drained it dry. “Renn, go buy her a drink?”
“Bourbon, boy; whole bottle. Cinnamon or clove, if you please. Bring back honey or any of that fruity crap and I’ll chop your fingers off.”
Renn shot Emmie a look, not able to tell if she was joking or not, then dug deep into his bag, where Brie had stashed some ‘emergency’ cash. When he watched Brie fold it into an inner pocket of the pack, way-back-when in Drennich, he never dreamed he’d have to look for it. Now he was grateful for her foresight. Renn frowned as he felt around the pocket. Something else was down there too.
“What’s this?” Renn pulled out a beautiful parchment.
All the color drained out of Emmie’s face, just before it went flush with a palette of bright red hues. Emmie snatched it out of his hand before he could open it.
“No idea,” she lied glibly, feeling instantly guilty. “But, please, get the woman her alcohol.”
“Yeah, I’m feeling perilously close to sober over here.”
Emmie’s eyes bore into Renn’s. This is important, we need her help. Renn, with one last mystified look at the letter, nodded and left for the bar.
“I’d go myself,” Emmie said with a high-pitch giggle, sliding the letter into her own bag and trying to distract Alixa. “But maybe I’m not of age.”
“Yeah, what are you kid, 13?” Alixa replied, seemingly paying no attention to Emmie’s reaction to—and taking of—the letter.
“I’ll be 16 in a couple months,” Emmie said defensively, then pleaded. “Alixa, please. I’m obviously not from the Khuul. Before my dad died, he told me how he found me, before he adopted me. He’d never explained the circumstances because I never wanted him to, and I’m not sure I like knowing now. I’m trying to figure out who I was before Dad found me. I know we have nothing to offer you. But we’ve got no one else. I really believe, Alixa, you’re willing to help us.”
Alixa offered no response. Emmie forged lamely ahead.
“Maybe in helping us, you’ll find something for yourself. I don’t know. All I know is that 13 years ago somebody left me for dead. Who and why and how I ended up where I did, I don’t know. But we’re trying to follow what little we know. I do have a map. I’ll show you.”
Alixa’s hardened smirk had changed into an expressionless mask.
Renn returned with Alixa’s re-filled bottle, curiously watching Emmie dig through her bag. Emmie felt another twinge of guilt as she pushed past the unopened letter. She’d have to tell him, of course, but she had bigger issues just now. Bigger? Debatable. More pressing at least.
She pulled out the rumpled ox skin map and smoothed it down.
“It’s quite detailed, actually. It must be north somewhere, up in the mountains, but it’s nowhere we know.” Emmie felt foolish begging for this woman’s pity. She slid the flattened map across the table to Alixa. “Maybe if nothing else. . . you could point us in the right direction? Or, really, maybe help us get home?”
Alixa reached for the map, then paused. Renn and Emmie watched her eyes go wide, her face turn a bit green, for just a heartbeat. She retracted her reach, balled her hands into fists and crossed her arms. After a couple seconds of glaring at them, she picked up the bourbon bottle and measuredly poured another glass. She emptied it slowly and deliberately.
“You saw something.” Emmie pulled the map back.
“Maybe.” Alixa’s face stayed brooding, dispassionate. “It’s possible I could find this place. Don’t know why I’d want to.”
“But will you?” Renn asked.
Alixa leaned back, her finger tracing the top of her chair, eyes finding a focus point on the ceiling. Long excruciating pause. “Maybe.”
“Great!” Emmie sank back, smiling.
“Maybe, Sheep, is not yes.” Her smirking veneer returned. “But, fine: maybe. I’ve no bounties at the moment; might have some time to spare. But that’s iffy—an iffy maybe. Maybe.”
Emmie beamed. Renn managed a tepid smile.
“I’ll sleep on it.”
“Oh, absolutely,” Emmie gushed. “That’s wise. Sleep on it.”
“I’m done.” Alixa pushed her chair back with a slow grace, appearing unfazed. “Where’re you two sleeping tonight?”
“Good question.” Renn squirmed.
“I’d say your planning skills are awfully lacking. Since I’ve somehow become responsible for you two, I guess I could help get you a room. You’re fortunate I’m such a generous gal.”
“Thank you, Alixa,” Emmie and Renn muttered.
“Open room, I’m sure Baerd won’t mind.” Alixa plunked a brilliant green boot on her now-empty chair and pointed to a small door at the end of the second-floor balcony. “Saves it for only the most honored guests. Seven feet long, seven feet wide. Basically, a big closet.” She leaned across the table towards Renn. “One little bed. You’re going to thank me, Longar. You and the Sheep all snuggly cozy, right on top of each other.”
“We’re not married. . . not even together. . . or anything.”
“So?” Alixa stood back up, grinning. “You and our charming little Sheep, keeping out the cold Basin air. I’m setting you up for a very good night, boy.”
“Alixa, stop,” Emmie chastised.
“What’s wrong, boy? Don’t like girls?”
“I do.” Renn frowned towards nothing in particular.
“What, then? You don’t like this girl?”
Renn sank further into a flummoxed shell.
“I think she’s a cutie pie.” Alixa threw an arm around Emmie, who reluctantly endured Alixa pinching her cheek. “Seriously, Longar, you don’t find this one awfully cute?”
“Fine,” Renn murmured. “Yes.”
“Leave him alone,” Emmie squeaked.
“What, then? You a bigot, Longar? Same as all the other Longar bigots? This girl repulsive to you?”
Renn wanted to disappear. But seeing people mistreating Emmie had become a decidedly touchy subject for him. And the look on her face now, as Alixa leveled the accusation, as though she feared it
might be true.
“That’s it, isn’t it?” Alixa hissed. Emmie rubbed her cheek as Alixa released her. “Wouldn’t be caught dead sleeping with the dirty little wheat-head, would you?”
“That isn’t it at all!” Renn snarled at Alixa. “Emmie’s the best girl I know. She’s too good to be treated like she’s some. . .” Renn turned crimson. “I don’t want your little bed or your cozy night. If I can’t show a girl respect now, then I haven’t earned her trust if I do get married. Floor’s fine by me.”
Renn turned away, sweating in embarrassment.
“Ain’t that the cutest ever?” Alixa crooned mockingly. She knocked back one last shot. “Suit yourself, Longar. I’ll let you know what I decide about your little questy-quest tomorrow.”
Renn stood, still steaming; now more with himself than with Alixa. What had Leeman told him: you gotta be smarter, subtler. He needed to work on that.
Emmie took her time puttering around with getting her belongings together. Hidden under her hood, she’d gone ear-to-ear pink. Maybe it was the tense, long day. Maybe she was simply beat. Maybe she was over-analyzing. But Emmie felt—whether Renn even realized he was saying it—that the ‘her’ receiving Renn’s respect tonight could very well have been the same ‘her’ he hoped to marry. Two little cards burned away in her backpack. One didn’t belong to her and she felt guilty even thinking about it. But it also scared her more than she could admit.
Regardless of what Alixa would say in the morning, this trip kept becoming not at all what Emmie had imagined.
XXVIII - The Inn in the Bersteg Basin
“Is that really necessary?” Emmie, her legs dangling off the makeshift pallet that was to be her bed, watched Renn wedge a dilapidated nightstand under the locked doorknob.
“Let’s hope not, but that Alixa painted a sorry picture of the patrons here. We saw it firsthand, don’t forget.”
“Hey, I tasted it. That guy’s breath is still up my nostrils. I don’t even want to know what might be in my mouth.” Emmie stuck out her tongue. “I wish I could offer you a more comfortable place to sleep.”
Alixa hadn’t exaggerated: the tiny room’s bed would only accommodate two people if their bodies were intertwined. Sitting on the corner of the narrow bed, Emmie gave both the weathered door and Renn’s dirty floorboard ‘bed’ a rueful frown. She flopped backwards, finding the mattress softer than it could’ve been. Which wasn’t to say it was anywhere near soft.
“Would you at least take the pillow and blanket?” she asked.
“All yours.”
Renn extinguished the candle. She chucked the bedding down to him.
“Probably infested with lice anyway. You keep ‘em.”
A full moon shone through the window, casting shadows on the cracky wall. Emmie pulled her cloak up tight around her shoulders and breathed in its warmth and aroma. It would always have a slight fishy Khuul Duvar smell, good memories clinging right along with it.
Emmie was grateful for the quiet, and for the dark. She shut her eyes to think. With no hope of getting back to Longarvale, their most outlandish option when the sun rose that morning —the lake—suddenly looked safe and homey at sunset. The map, which they’d always considered a dead end, now seemed their only means of securing any help whatsoever. But where was it? What was it? And would the ‘help’ be at all helpful? Too messy. She forced her thoughts elsewhere.
Emmie’s mind rolled to the day’s other shock, which seemed no less messy. The contents of that little letter could turn her friendship with Renn—along with the trust they’d forged and needed simply to survive—into a disaster. Or possibly it could lead to something wonderful. What to do with the Renn problem? She hated to think of their relationship as a problem. No, she pinched her arm: not relationship, friendship.
“Hey, Emmie, you awake?”
“You blew out the candle, like, thirty seconds ago.” Apparently, what she would be doing with this Renn thing would be talking, not thinking or sleeping.
“Hey, Emmie? Do you think Alixa will say yes?”
“The map rattled her. I don’t think she can say no.”
“Do you think we can trust her?”
Emmie paused before answering. “I like her, Renn. I do. So, she’s harsh and rough and, well, awfully mean actually. . . but she’s all we got.”
“Hardly reassuring.”
“I’m choosing to be optimistic. There’s more to her, I think, than what we saw tonight. I’m counting on that.” She hoped that was the end of it, but no.
“Emmie, what do we do if Alixa says no?”
He’s sure chatty and anxious, Emmie frowned to herself. Does his mind always switch on when the candles go out? And what, she found herself contemplating as her stomach went light and fluttery, would a lifetime of this be like? The thought both half-amused and half-terrified her. Okay, truthfully, maybe 2/3’s amused. . .
“Uh, you there?” Renn asked.
“I don’t know what we’ll do.” The enormity of that statement was overwhelming. “I wish I did, Renn, but again, what else do we have?”
They waited, each hoping the other would reveal an earth-shattering epiphany. But, no.
“I know. I just. . . I don’t like it.”
“No.” Emmie felt the weight of sadness crushing her. “But we have nothing. Nothing.”
Silence passed between them again. The only thing Renn could hear more loudly than the bawdy tavern going strong beneath them was how close to despairing Emmie sounded.
“We just need to stick close, you and me. I promise I’m with you,” Renn said brightly, then yawned. “Let’s hope Alixa’s having a good decision-making kind of night. G’night, Emmie.”
Too many possible responses raced through Emmie’s head. All she could mumble out was, “Yeah. . . you and me. G’night, Renn.”
Alixa’s night was not going well.
She couldn’t shake off or drink away that she felt weak. Fearful. Vulnerable. Emotions she had starved for years, until they couldn’t hound her anymore.
Perched atop the north parapet of Baerdron’s Inn, she glared at the full moon through bleary eyes. That map was haunting her. The girl had no clue; it could’ve been a snot rag for how carelessly she shoved it across the table. Kaisson. . . Baiweer. . . The Ghost Gate, circled in blood red. So that was it. But how? And those three punctures off to the right by the big empty space in the corner? Alixa pulled her hair so hard she almost yanked out great handfuls.
Where was this map when she really needed it? She slammed herself backwards against the curling shingles, cursing the blasted girl and her damned map. She popped open her canteen, smelled it wasn’t empty, and took a swig. She took three sharp breaths and focused on the alcohol warming her stomach, tamping her onrushing hysteria.
Alixa thrust her mind past all the emotions, to the crux of the problem. Now, with access to the means, it would be cowardice not to follow them.
She stared unfocused at the moon, recalling the names and places on the map. Her pale grey eyes no longer reflected the swagger and cocky sarcasm of a hardened young woman, but of a frightened little girl that Alixa thought she’d smothered years ago.
She had no real choice. She’d tell the Sheep she’d do it.
Emmidawn, right? Yeah, that was the Sheep’s name. That Emmidawn was awfully fun to tease. The Longar boy as well. Naïve little pair. Cute in a silly way. Yeah, I’ll take the Sheep and her map, she snorted. She smelled the canteen ruefully; empty again. Then, nimbly climbing back through the window, Alixa slid silently into the inn. Mind made up.
Emmie wiped the grogginess from her eyes and the sticky sleep-taste from her mouth. The silhouette in front of the window frame wasn’t moving. It wasn’t sleeping either.
“Renn, what time is it?” Emmie rolled to a sitting position.
Renn looked up at the moon. “Maybe four, I guess.”
“Have you slept at all?”
“Mmm, some. I’m thinking.” His voice was froggy and wea
ry.
“You’re not thinking, you’re worrying. Getting yourself all worked up.” Emmie lit the candle and shuffled over to him. “Take the bed.”
“I’m not going back on—”
“Respect’s not worth much if it doesn’t go both ways.” Emmie laid her hand on his shoulder, looked him in the eye. “And, Renn, it does. Please, sleep. We’ve got long days ahead.”
With a tentative nod, Renn agreed to switch spots. Emmie, shifting restlessly, gazed up at the full moon from the window seat. Renn was snoring softly in no time. She hopped up. Maybe Renn could stare aimlessly at the moon for hours, but not Emmie. She strapped a dagger around her thigh and threw on her cloak. I’ll be back before he wakes up. She tugged open the big door and was greeted by the fishy smell of freshly cut fillets—an irresistible draw for Emmie.
The tavern’s kitchen, with its low ceiling, cluttered racks of pans, and only two small windows, felt dusky even during the day. But at 4 am, with the low light of just a couple torches, it was almost dungeonesque. Didn’t matter to Baerdron. Favorite time of day, the bushy, barrel-shaped innkeeper chuckled. He’d known many of the usuals at his raucous, chaotic inn for 15-20 years, and still, far as he knew, none of them had discovered his secret: he’d rather bake than fight, chop venison in the pre-dawn silence than hold court over the post-dinner drinking crowd.
He whistled a somber soldiers’ song from a previous life, then stopped mid-note.
“Who’s there?”
“Sorry to interrupt.” He was greeted by two shining grey eyes and a big hesitant smile. “Your whistling’s pretty. Sad, but kind of heroic-like.”
“Alixa’s friend. Stayed, huh? Even after, you know.”
“I’d like to think Alixa and I could be friends.” She rocked back and forth on her heels.
Strange girl. Baerdron snorted. “What do you want? Paying for a room doesn’t entitle you to gawking or small talk.”
“I, actually. . .” Emmie laughed, timidly looking away. “I wondered if I might clean some fish? You certainly got fish. I could smell ‘em clear upstairs.”
The Silver Claw Page 17
